


Chloe

by dahlia2



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, F/F, F/M, Multi, Reader-Insert, the main character has no gender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahlia2/pseuds/dahlia2
Summary: The year was 2039. You were a journalist working in Detroit, Michigan. Working closely with the activists in the android revolution, you were eager to take down Elijah Kamski. How? By meeting with the man in question.But what happened when an opportunity arose to get even closer to the creator of the now exploited android working class? What happened when you started to suspect that all was not as it seemed in the Kamski home? What did you do?This is a choose your own adventure style fanfiction. The chapters will be published as written, but if you want the chapter for the specific path you’ve taken to be posted sooner, just comment on it saying that you’ve gotten there. I can’t know how many people have gone down a particular path without your help.
Relationships: Original Chloe | RT600/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaa I've been thinking about this for a while thank you for reading

You never thought you would become an activist. Growing up, you had thought that you would end up a teacher or a nurse like your parents. Then androids happened. 

By the time you got to college you realized that if you wanted to be good at something, you would need to be able to work a job that could not easily be given to a robot. Your parents had worried about that too, which was why they had fled from the positions of their own parents in factories. 

As the robots got more complicated and their skill range widened, you realized that the best job for you was one where you could make yourself an asset to the people around you. That was how you became a journalist. The fact that nobody wanted to pay for news became an asset. 

What newsroom can afford the kind of android needed for this line of work? Not anyone in Detroit, that was for sure. 

So, you graduated and went straight into the field. First freelance, then a steady gig covering the activism scenes in the city. Humans were interested in your content. Why wouldn’t they be? America was a place known for her bite. Maybe not the government, or those in power, but the people who made up the area certainly were.

Then you met Markus. 

You assumed he was human when the two of you first crossed paths, before the revolution had gotten to a point where it was common knowledge. You were doing vox pops on street preachers and their movement against the androids who had taken the jobs in their community. 

You had approached him, as you did with any person who made eye contact with you. You started to form a question when you saw the light on the side of his head. 

“Oh, sorry. This piece is for humans.” You started. Then, awkwardly, “I mean, unless you wanted to weigh in?”

It wasn’t like any of the humans around were super excited to participate. It was too early in the morning for that. 

“What’s the piece about?” He asked, with a voice so conversational it sounded like he was a person after all. 

“Street preachers. Do you have a second to discuss the topic?” His brows were slightly furrowed. He smiled after a moment. 

“Will you walk with me? I need to be back home in time to make breakfast.” 

You agreed. 

After meeting Markus you gave him your card, in case he or whoever he lived with had any more opinions they felt like sharing. You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to use what he said in your piece but you editor felt like there was something there.

She let you run it, quotes included. Then, when Markus called you asking if he could do an interview after the revolution began, she let you run even more. 

That was how you got involved with the revolution. Sure, it was probably more than a cross of the ethical guidelines to be reporting on something you were an active participant in, but you knew how important this was.

Silence in the face of injustice was still an act of violence, even silence in the name of maintaining objectivity. 

You became the human voice of reason to many, the grandchild of unionized factory workers who understood the importance of holding the government accountable for legalizing the evils that had led the people- human and android- to an economy that was dependent on an underpaid class. Markus saw you as a valuable asset who could dissuade many who believed the scaremongering of those higher up. You saw Markus as someone who could spearhead the movement for worker’s rights.

So, why didn’t you tell him about what you were doing?

Regardless of the reason, you felt guilty when you parked at the home of Elijah Kamski, book in hand. You had been trying for weeks to get a digital “in” on what exactly was happening at his residence once the revolution occurred, but so far it was nothing. It looked like he hadn’t even upped his security.

You turned off your car, waiting for the cold air from outside to hit you before you exited into the drive. Your body ached in the winter weather. It had been over 20 years living in this city but you still would never be able to get used to this. It wasn’t in your nature.

As you went to his front door you wondered if you should have called. You knew he would be home, as you had been analyzing his movements with Markus for weeks for reasons unrelated to this moment. But would he let you in?

He was selfish and self-obsessed. He tended to talk to anyone who gave him the time of day at this point, eager to fix his name. He was a rich man working off of daddy’s money who couldn’t handle being seen by the public as a nuisance. He needed his tech-obsessed lackeys sucking his dick or he’d die trying.

But he was also dangerous. He had money, and clearly he must have had some kind of connections to get this far in life. 

Was that why you hadn’t talked to Markus about your plan of sneaking over this afternoon to catch a peak? 

It didn’t matter. You were there now. 

You got to the door and rang the bell with a gloved hand. You had stopped touching things with your bare skin years ago, after the popularization of print scanning. 

You could hear footsteps beyond the door of the mansion. You waited.

A woman opened the door. She was beautiful, blonde, and smiling.

Chloe. The first android. Or, the most common model at least. Was this the original RT600? 

She was dressed in a blue dress that dipped low enough to show her collar bones. The light on the side of her head glowed blue, spinning as she tried to meet your eye. 

You, in a journalist’s typical jeans and a blazer, felt particularly underdressed. 

“Welcome to the Kamski residence. Have you made an appointment?”

“I- Well-” You had this problem around pretty girls, sure, but the stuttering wasn’t just for that. She met your eye as you spoke, in the way androids often would. They had been disconnected from the database that allowed them to easily scan faces and pick up ID’s since the government had realized what a liability that might be. Now, though, you felt seen in a way you had never experience. 

“You must be the author we had scheduled for 2.” She smiled gently before opening the door wider. “Come on in, writer. You’re a little early but I’m sure that Kamski won’t mind.”

And there came your first big decision since leaving that morning. Would you go inside, and see where this led, or would you tell her who you really were, and end up leaving with nothing to show for it?

Go Inside: Chapter 2

Leave: Chapter 3


	2. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have gotten to this point then you have decided: YES to working with Kamski. To reread the story as you have chosen you would read: Introduction and chapter one.

The meeting was very brief. Chloe introduced you by a name you didn’t recognize and accolades you had far from earned. Who was renowned author Sam Breeland? Why did she assume that was you?

You still had so many questions left unanswered but there was never much time for you to speak about yourself in your meeting. 

Kamski said he would pay you $1,000 a week until the interviews were over, $20,000 once the book was written, and a final payment of $5,000 once it had published. You hoped that you wouldn’t get to a point where you actually accepted any of that payment. This was already ethically dubious as it was. 

But you couldn’t pass this up. A chance to take down one of the worst men of the decade? A man with the power to control an entire class of people and reinstitute wageless labor, while fucking over the whole of the country in the process? Well, what person wouldn’t do what they needed to in order to get the job done.

You were a decent person first, journalist second. Your editor knew this, even if you had yet to fill her in on the lengths you would go to retain that humanity. 

You took your car to his house that next Wednesday, not in the mood to deal with public transportation. 

Your car was old, but she functioned just fine. She was made before androids, before the abolition of unions, and before anyone was aware of just how far the government would go to keep itself in power. She was ugly, arguably vintage at best, and she had held you through the years in college when you couldn’t afford to drive home to sleep. 

When you arrived, the anxiety you felt from your first time at his home returned. 

You knew what it would mean to get caught, but you had to do what was right, not what was comfortable. 

At the front door again, you didn’t have the chance to knock before she was there, smiling and beautiful again.

You noticed now how her hair seemed perfectly combed into a bun. Her dress was without wrinkles, her tights without runs. She carried herself with a casual beauty that you knew was anything but effortless.

As she greeted you, questions arose once more.

How had Chloe not noticed that you weren’t who she said you were? Sure, androids had long since been disconnected from their access to retinal scanning databases but she should have been smart enough to know you weren’t whoever this author she claimed you were was. 

“Good morning, may I take your coat?” She asked, her gentle voice making you want to melt to the floor. 

What a problem a pretty girl could be when you were mean to be helping dismantle the government. 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” You replied as you entered the room. You shed your winter coat easily, finally able to unbutton your dark blazer beneath and let in some of the warmer air of the lobby of the home. 

“How was your drive? I know the roads must be a mess with all that snow.” She gestured for you to follow her through the house until you reached an office where Kamski was working.

“You know how it is. Mud, ice, sleet.” You said, shrugging. 

She frowned.

_ Oh. She doesn’t.  _

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you sometime.” You said as she opened the door to the office, “I promise you’re not missing out.” 

Her cheeks seemed to tint blue in the light coming from the windows. But, given how dim the office was, it was just as possible that you had imagined it.

-

The meeting with Kamski was uneventful. You spend the better part of the morning with him listing off his childhood of privilege and doing your damndest to pretend you were invested. 

You just needed to get to his adult life. When would he start talking about the dirty details? Not that day, apparently. 

At noon, Chloe returned. 

“Sorry to bother you Elijah, but you have a meeting in town at one-thirty.” She said in a singsong voice. 

It would be rude to think that she sounded different earlier, and you would not mistake your attraction to her as being reciprocated just because she was kind to you. However, unrelated to her interactions with you specifically, she sounded different talking to Kamski.

She sounded almost like she was trying to make sure he knew that she knew her place. 

He nodded but didn’t respond to her directly.

“I’ll see you the same time on Wednesday. One of the Chloes will have your payment for the week in a cashier’s check before you leave.” He said before turning to his computer.

She turned to you, still speaking in that same melodic, customer service tone. 

“I can bring you to get something to eat from the kitchen before you leave.” 

You stood, grabbing your bag you had brought and stuffing your tablet into it quickly. You had plenty of notes about Kamski’s childhood but you had also recorded everything to listen back on later. You didn’t feel the need to stress about the information you would never use. 

Chloe brought you to the kitchens silently.

“Has your morning gone well, Chloe?” You asked, trying to keep up any semblance of a conversation. You couldn’t handle silence. It felt like a slap in the face to the universe to live and not speak. 

Or maybe you just didn’t know how to shut up.

She smiled back at you.

“It’ll be better when I can use the pool outside.”

It seemed she also wasn’t made for the cold. 

-

You had a meeting with Markus that evening. Usually, you were only there to make the occasional press release about what plans the leaders in Detroit had for upcoming negotiations. This week, everyone was in yet another exhausting standstill. 

The question on the table:

Should androids have access to government assistance as it related to medical care?

You didn’t offer anything unless spoken to directly. You were in a position of privilege as a human in this situation, and you weren’t going to take advantage of that by making the conversation about your feelings. 

After the meeting, Markus asked if anyone needed to speak with him in private before they concluded the evening. 

Do you need to speak with him in private? 

Yes: Chapter 3

No: Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment or indicate somehow that you've gotten this far if you want me to update faster!


End file.
